It's peaceful now, on the outside. But there is no end to the tumult inside of me. My very soul feels restless, and even aches--somewhere deep in my throat, behind the dip at the base of my neck, where tears ache and gather. I want to be so much more. I want the world to be so much more. I want some miraculous release or outflowing which will somehow give meaning and vision to my world and those around.

Unleash this grief, this deep I keep nestled inside-- I know it is there for a reason, and I know it is beautiful, but it presses, and it weighs, and it calls out and nothing answers but faint echoes from far away. Words fail, I fail to find the right ones, they simply are not there-- but I want. I want I want I want, and that much I know, and that much I do not have, because I want so much more from life, and from myself.

But how much of me first must die? How much of those I love must atrophy while I sit and listen, watch--helpless. How much stagnancy and pressure can I take before I snap all responsibility, all duty, all love, all caution and run somewhere--free?

Give me my wine, and give me my cigars, and give me my silken-shirt, with no underclothes and no regrets. Tomorrow, this summer, this life may be duty and motivation and hard, bloody hard work-- but tonight I will dine on the delectability of what I choose not to regret, and tonight I will sit, dry-eyed and pensive, and tonight I will watch the world burn.